


Bloodied Gown

by heckasketchy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: it's kind of confusing tbh so sorry about that, its not a major character death i promise, nothing we haven't seen anyway lol, ok so i'm obvi not gonna finish this but have it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8229094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heckasketchy/pseuds/heckasketchy
Summary: A short thing I threw together one day that I'm not going to finish. Anya gets hurt, Clarke is the operating surgeon.





	

She stumbles out of the operating room. She’s sticky and her feet lag. Is she still covered? Is the blood she sees covering her arms and chest real? She traces her fingers across the garnet liquid and comes up with nothing on her fingers.

_Illusion._

She goes into the scrub room - No, she must inform the family. She must tell them that their daughter is dead. Dead. Skull cracked open . Shattered glass embedded in pallid skin. Blood everywhere, coating her.

_Memory._

Her feet move her into the hospital lobby. She hears the wet sliding of the blood that soaks her gown. Is she still wearing her gown? No, she can’t be. She took it off. Her scrubs, she didn’t change them, did she? Is she still imagining the blood or is it real? She moves to the receptionist’s desk either way, telling her the patient’s name. If she says the words out loud, it makes it real.

“Glen, Anya,” she whispers. The receptionist looks at her with an odd look before his face falls. He knows what’s happened. He - Miller, she reads on his name tag - presses a button and says the name softly into the mouthpiece. Clarke looks out into the lobby and sees a wild-haired woman shoot up from her seat. Her eyes are wild and tears have made winding trails in her foundation. She speeds over to the help desk, nose almost slamming into the protective glass.

“Anya? Is she okay?” The woman completely ignores the surgeon to her left, all focus on the poor boy in front of her.

“I-I’m not -”

“Ma’am, I’m the operating surgeon,” Clarke says, she almost sounds hollow. Maybe that will make her sound more affected.

_Like she isn’t affected enough._

Suddenly the woman is in her face, large hazel eyes burrowing into her, begging her for answers. She wants so badly to give this woman the good news she yearns for, but she can’t. She can’t. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the surgery was unsuccessful.” The woman didn’t need to wait for the surgeon to finish her statement, collapsing to the ground once Clarke’s apology had escaped her lips. Her pain was translated into different combinations of “no’s”, “God’s” and simple wails. Clarke could nothing but kneel next to the woman, put her hand on the woman’s shoulder - thank God she remembered to wash her hands, unless the nurses did it for her - and offer her her silent condolences.

They stay on the floor for quite a long time, and it might have been awkward if not for the situation that had procured the interaction. Eventually, the woman crawls halfway into Clarke’s lap, clinging about her waist with talon fingers. “Ma’am,” Clarke mutters eventually, knowing that death stops for no one and that the bustling Arkadia alleys are ripe with it. “I am so, so sorry that I failed you.” She leaves a moment where the woman hiccups and begins to relinquish her hold on the surgeon. “I have to go though. I have to go make sure no one else dies.” _I have to._

“Yes,” the woman mutters, peeling herself off Clarke. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Clarke whispers. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

**Author's Note:**

> Welp that was confusing to no end, wasn't it? Sorry for the abrupt ending but like it says, I probably won't finish it anyway so.  
> There you go.


End file.
